Jobs

Act 8 – The Law Enforcer

Thrust and Obey.

~ Sylvia Winchell

Don’t die until you’re dead is what I always tell myself when we go to these buy-and-bust operations, or drug-busting operations where we catch unsuspecting drug dealers within the community and make safe a town that is not.

The narcotics detectives are standing by in the safe zone an eight of a mile away, probably 200 meters give or take, because they specialize in identifying substances and not killing people.

I’m the only woman in a guerilla army of gun-toting men, or rather in a group of gorilla-looking SMG-toting men who are tasked to raid and put criminals to justice. SMG by the way stands for submachine guns which are short rifles that are capable of rapid fire at five bullets per second.

We are hovering in the air inside a phantom helicopter, the kind of copter that doesn’t make a lot of noise. We are closing in on the location and my heart begins to race, “We’ll bring in the rain, so keep it tight!” bellows the captain, chief of security for the Metropolitan Police Department.

This drug-bust operation is arranged quite differently. I say this because the men I’m with not only comprise law enforcers from our police department, but we also have the aid of Homeland Security. Their involvement means that the felons we’re busting are no small fry but big fish, the kind of criminals you don’t wanna f**k around with. Well—tongue-in-cheek—if the reprobates are kinda’ hot, then um, I may just f**k one of them in the interrogation room. Just one. No harm in fúcking a criminal as long as I keep him at arm’s length and in cuffs, Christian Grey-style.

I’m the youngest woman from the Metropolitan Police Department, and apparently the only female who’s strong enough to represent. So yeah, props to me and my aluminum chest and titanium spine for being the bravest b***h of MPD.

I’m wearing a bulletproof vest that cinches my waist but flattens my perky bosoms, which is both a good and a bad thing. It’s a good thing because my girls need all the support they can get once I start pacing like a mad woman whose out for blood. I can’t run fast with my breasts jiggling all over the place now can I? As for the bad thing, well, it’s quite tight against my chest which makes me feel my heartbeat going thump, thump, thump! I can hear it in my throat, and I can hear it roar in my ears, “Wench, you alright??”

My blood pressure always spikes at the way he calls me, “Shut up Garth,” I snarl and shoot him a frosty glare and he chuckles, knowing that calling me Wench instead of Winchell pisses the hell out of me, “Call me Wench and I’ll shove a díck up your áss,” I hiss like a venomous snake while releasing the safety of my submachine guns.

Garth is a dark-haired Caucasian and a clusterfúck of races. He is of Italian descent but also has Polish, German, Hungarian, Austrian, and English in his blood. I sometimes call him Ham or any type of meat because he represents a major food group which is protein, what with the rock-hard abs and chiseled physique. He’s like Henry Cavill but shorter, and more Latino-looking. I say short because 5’7’’ is pretty fúcking short.

Well, he may be freaky deaky short but he’s ripped and built like a muscular midget. I say midget because he’s like Frodo standing behind me. I’m five-foot-twelve, six-foot-three in heels when I feel like dressing up like a woman.

I’m a brunette and have been told that I can model for Sports Illustrated. But that’s just my friends talking so I don’t give mind to any of it. Although I do exercise a lot to keep me in shape, and I look decent in a dress especially when the boss asks me to go undercover on missions that require a bit of sleuthing, or operations that require a woman’s touch. I’m not the best with seducing men, but I measure up just fine.

“Ladies,” our captain calls, “Strap up. Arms up. And whatever you do. Don’t f**k the f**k up! Engage all hostiles with a bullet to the head. I want it clean and breezy understand? We’ll wrap this up in ten. I got a hungry woman waiting for me at home and she ain’t gon’ be happy if I have blood on my uniform,” I roll my eyes at no one in particular, “Tonight is hunting season. So let’s paint this madafuckin’ town red! Woot-woot!” he hollers and his Spartans growl like cavemen. I do another eye-roll. They keep howling like wolves as I secure the straps of my vest.

The propellers spin as the helicopter dips, “Ladies first,” Garth winks at me and I clack my tongue as my eyes turn to slits. I’m usually the first one they send down on missions like this and I don’t know why. I guess chivalry died a long time ago when someone put a bullet in its díck.

Garth secures the harness around my waist, cuffing the strong metal clamp against my back. I grip my SMGs one in each hand, trigger fingers thrumming with excitement as my straight body dips forward, looking down with the wind from the propellers fanning the hair over my face. On either side of me are men who are also going to jump. We all look at each other and nod as we push our bodies into the air. The cord extends as gravity pulls us down. I point my toes and my guns at the glass roofing of the warehouse and start pepper-fúcking it with bullets. I close my eyes as first my heels, and then my body, pierce through the glass. I open my eyes and everything feels like slow motion as I rain murder with my hands.

We have an advantage because we opened fire from above, looking down on all the exposed heads that have no idea of the bullets that will sink in each one of them. I pull at my triggers with no mercy, making bodies thrash violently before they collapse. Some are fast enough to jump and hide behind the protection of metal crates and creaking slabs.

More men from our team follow suit as soon as I land on my feet. The metal clamp unhooks from my back and I see red all around me. Just like what the captain ordered. Paint the madafuckin’ town red! “Wench!” Garth shouts and I duck as he lifts his gun to shoot over my head at the man who is poised behind my back, “You owe me,” he winks and smooches his lips.

Ugh. Garth has no game. He’s a starving man. Always hungry for s*x because s*x he doesn’t have. I throw my empty SMGs and pull the rifle from my back as I squat just in time to duck a punch from an assailant. I do a sweeping kick with my leg and he slams on his back, “Don’t kill me I’m two weeks from retirement!” he yells and I roll my eyes. I throw my body down with my elbow to his gut like an MMA fighter followed by a strong swing of my rifle to knock him down.

I quickly stand and pull a butterfly knife from my hip which, with a flick of my wrist, gets buried in the throat of a man wielding a freaky deaky machine gun. His left hand shoots to cover his neck as the gore spits out. I jump for cover as soon as his right hand pulls on the trigger of the machine gun, the bullets shooting everywhere without a clear aim as the man drops to his knees with blood spattering from the cut. I skirt around the crates with my head down while keeping a clear aim, gunning down hostiles, making their heads snap backwards with every bullet I fire.

I do a roundhouse kick to the back of the man wielding the machine gun and he drops down. I kick down his neck to bury the butterfly knife to his throat, making him jerk one last time before he turns cold. In a flash I find myself tackled to the ground. I’m filled with rage like a scorned woman as we both stand with his arms around my breasts. I lift my knee and stomp the heel of my foot to his feet with powerful force. He yowls in pain and loosens his grip so I backhand his face which makes him stumble backwards with a hand cupping his nose, the blood gushing like a fountain between his fingers. He surges forward like a raging bull and I use his momentum to blindside him by wrapping the gun strap around his neck and use his body as my human shield.

“Please! Shoot me anywhere just not my díck or my boyfriend will kill me!” he screams at me and I find myself fighting an internal battle not to laugh. Oh God. So now I have to protect him!?

“Wench!” Garth shouts and it takes all of me not to sink a bullet in his brain, “The drug lord is escaping,” he points and I snap my attention to the drug lord who is running off with a briefcase.

I push my human shield off of me to the ground, “Thank you Ma’am! Go LGBT!” he shouts with a fist pump as I make haste to pursue the drug lord, all the while laughing at the ridiculousness of the gay man. Jesus, what has this world come to?

I run like a mad woman, chasing after a man who just flipped me a bird. Adrenaline adds a powerful surge to my speed as I propel forward and around a corner to where the town square is. Oh no. Civilians breed casualties and collateral damage. This is not good. This is not good at all.

I hear a bloodcurdling scream from a woman the drug lord holds captive, his right hand holding the gun pointed to the woman’s head while the other clutching the briefcase as they walk backwards, “Shut it b***h!” he mangles the poor lady in his arms, making her more panic-stricken and frazzled as a concerto of squeals break from her angelic mouth, “What the f**k!?”

Next thing I know a giant comes crashing the scene. The drug lord startles and shoots the behemoth in the shoulder but the big man doesn’t flinch and instead reaches forward to grab my target by the neck. The drug lord raises his weapon but the giant is quick to grab the firearm. I hear an agonized scream and the drug lord loosens his grip on the gun.

I hear a sickening crunch as the titan snaps the drug lord’s wrist. I flinch as if sharing his pain. His screams die in his throat as the giant slams him hard against the concrete. I freeze as I stand and watch at justice being served. My target starts crawling in anguish but he doesn’t make it far as both his legs get pulled by the ogre and before I can intervene his whole body is already being slammed against a wall like he’s a chair, the big man smashing my target’s body against the wall over and over and I can hear bones breaking as the blood colors the wall.

“Stop!” I finally yell and the titan looks to me with murder for eyes. He slams the drug lord one last time and I can no longer recognize his tattered state as the red mixes with the white of his garments. The ogre trudges toward me with contempt but he is soon immobilized as the lady captive stands between him and me with her arms outstretched as she tells the giant to stop.

“Y-you know this guy!?” I stammer as my scalp prickles with apprehension at the huge gaping shadow looming over and covering the streetlight, “Oh God. He’s not going to kill me now is he!?” I shudder with rising panic.

“No,” the woman replies, “He was just protecting me,” she walks toward him, “Calm down, Grum,” she reaches up to caress his arm and the giant visibly relaxes, “You’re shot,” she whispers in a constricted sob and I realize they are close, “You okay??”

“OK,” the ogre grunts and I realize that he is human. I hide my gun so as not to frighten the gentle beast as I walk towards them.

“We need to get him to a hospital and I need both your statements back at the police station,” I declare while keeping my eyes trained on the giant she calls Grum, “Is he your … your brother?” I ask in a more compassionate tone.

“He’s my boyfriend,” the lady answers and one of my eyebrows shoots up.

“Grum, you’re bleeding. Does it hurt?” the titan kneels and she cradles his face against her bosom, making the giant close his eyes at the feeling, “You’re with the Metropolitan, right?” she turns to me eyeing the badge I’m wearing and I nod, “Please don’t put him in jail. He was provoked and he was just trying to protect me,” she looks really worried and my heart melts.

“I won’t. I just need a statement. But we need to get him to a hospital first.”

“Okay,” she whispers, “Grum. Hospital. Okay?” she talks slow and I realize that Grum is mute.

“OK,” the big man responds and I find myself asking how she is able to make him talk at all.

“He can only answer with short words because he just started therapy,” she explains, “He reads my lips in the meantime while his therapist works on getting his hearing back,” she looks at him thoughtfully and I see tears prick her eyes, “He’s in pain. We need to get him to the hospital.”

“Of course,” At the corner of my eye I see Garth pacing towards us, “Hey Meat,” I turn to him and he skids to a stop with his head down and hands on knees. He pants and heaves for much needed oxygen as he raises his index finger as a sign for me to give him a minute, “Oh Garth. You really need to up your cardio,” I shake my head, my face scrunched in a teasing frown.

He’s out-of-breath and wheezing, “What the … what the f**k is that?” he points to the drug lord’s unrecognizable corpse and I flinch at the gruesome deathly figure, “Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, “What did you do to him!?” his brows were scrunched together and his eyes are wide. He looks behind me and his jaw drops as he makes the connection with the giant, “No way.”

“Yes way,” I nod and he straightens up his back. He pulls his radio to talk to have someone do an extraction of the lifeless, bloodied body, “You take care of the corpse and I’ll help these civilians to the hospital. I’ll be taking their statement for paperwork. I’ll be seeing you in a few hours.”

We’re at the hospital and I just finished taking their statement. I didn’t think there was a need for me to drag them all the way to the police station because I wasn’t sure that Grum could get through the door without the whole station collapsing, “I’ve never met a lady officer quite like you before,” Natasha regards me with a smile. She is standing beside Grum who’s sitting with his shoulder being attended to by a nurse, the treated wound now being dressed with bandages.

I don’t think the bullet hurt him when he got shot. I believe what hurt him more was the fact that his girlfriend was in danger and he wasn’t quick enough to notice, given that there was a celebration in the town square and a bazaar was happening. The doctor was able to extract the bullet with no difficulty because it was shallow thanks to all the muscle Grum was packing. And as I continue listening to Natasha, I can’t help but think that Grum might do well with law enforcement. He’s a wall of skin and has a high tolerance for pain, physical pain that is. Not too sure about the emotional because he tames in the presence of Natasha, “Your parents must be very proud of you,” she says softly. Wistful emotions fill my heart as I’m reminded of a memory.

My father didn’t believe in female soldiers. I say didn’t because he died long ago when he got called to Iraq. I don’t understand what it is with men who find it hard to trust their lives in the hands of a woman. The only real difference we have with them is that we have v****a for balls. Their p***s is just an elongated c******s that gets hard. I don’t see much of a difference at all.

Anyway, my mother didn’t take lightly to my father’s death and she soon perished in her depression. It’s been years now, close to a decade, and I took it upon myself to prove my father wrong and at the same time make him proud. I just hope that he is proud of me wherever he is.

I find myself smiling at these two lovebirds. There is something about Grum that is captivating when you take the time to look at him. He’s like an oversized boyfriend you want to cuddle with all night. And as I think of them and their intimacy, I can’t help but wonder how big Grum is.

“Hey,” I whisper to Natasha and she veers her attention to me, “How big is your boyfriend … down there?” I ask, boldly, knowing that Grum cannot understand a word I’m saying. Natasha’s cheeks burn red as she looks to Grum. A small V forms between Grum’s eyebrows and I find it adorable. I wanted to pinch his cheeks but he might punch me so I didn’t. Natasha is blushing hard, and then I realize that she need not provide an answer. Her flushed state already says it all.

Garth and I are in our police car. I’m behind the wheel and he’s in the passenger seat. We’re doing a stake-out but, since I’m with Meat, it’s only fitting that I call it a steak-out, “Shít,” he starts complaining mighty gibberish, “Nothing’s happening. We’ve been sitting ducks for an hour. I need some action,” Heh, sure you do I think to myself, “Aargh…” he groans, “The drug-bust was like a couple days ago. Why does nothing ever happen in Washington anymore?” he grumbles and I roll my eyes, not sharing his feelings because I’m more annoyed by his constant drawling. He should be thankful that we are getting some downtime. The last job wore me out. He huffs through his nose and sinks further in his seat, “What’s on your mind, huh Wench?”

“Robin Thicke,” I reply, expression deadpan, “I keep thinking about his performance with Miley in the recent MTV VMA.”

“W-Why him? Why so?”

“Are you jealous, Meat?”

“No! Why would I be??”

“You sounded jealous.”

“God, you’re so random and weird sometimes. And I’m not jealous. But just … just why are you thinking about the guy?”

“Nothing,” I scrutinize my nails, thinking if I should get a manicure because they’re too bland, “I was just thinking how thick he is you know?”

“Jesus Christ,” he exclaims, repulsed, and I snicker, “God, Wench, what’s wrong with you??” he shivers in disgust and I laugh, “Goddammit.”

“What about you?” I ask, “What’s on your mind?”

He shifts to face me, “I wanna f**k your boobs.”

I backhand him hard across the mouth and he snaps to stare at me wide-eyed, “What the f**k woman!” he exclaims while rubbing his jaw and I laugh, “Jesus fúcking Christ, I’m serious, God,” Poor Garth. He’s starving and has no game, “Let’s get a box of doughnuts,” he says, “I don’t think there’s anything going down tonight.”

“Cops and donuts. You are so cliché,” I mutter but my hands are already stirring the wheel, driving off and down the parking area to go around the corner and onto a commercial street.

“C’mon Wench. When was the last time you had s*x?” he presses on and I do an eye-roll, “I’m a hot cop. And I’m fully equipped to pleasure you.”

“Ew. You are so disgusting and your innuendos are awful,” I mock him but I find his humor funny at times. Oh Garth, if you were only taller.

Traffic is up ahead and I have two choices – turn on the cop lights and part the traffic like I’m Moses, or be a good cop and wait it out. I choose the latter, “Take that hand off my thigh,” I hiss through teeth at the feeling of warm hands curving around my inner thigh, “I’ll snip your little pee-pee off if you don’t pull that hand away~!!”

“I’m an American!” he exclaims, “I have motherfúcking rights!” Oh God.

“Sure you do,” I mumble as I slide between the traffic and drive off-ramp.

“I’m a man and if you don’t give me sexy time I’m going to take this to the State Penile Code!”

“Ew. Oh my God. Now you blaspheme the State Penal Code? Good Lord.”

I find myself building into a good laugh despite his ridiculous musings. He notices this and presses on, “I’m the long arm of the law woman! It’s within my right to peruse your v****a whenever the hell I want!” I laugh and I find my laughter somewhat healing, “Aw, there’s my girl. I like hearing you laugh,” he cooed and something warm fluttered below my stomach. Garth and I have been partners for quite a while now and I know that he is serious about pursuing me but I never really gave him a chance. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.

“You know,” I wrinkle my nose, “It’s unprofessional to hit on your partner,” I look to him and I see his resolve weaken. Garth knows that our friendship means a lot to me and I will not taint it with premature considerations, “We need to get you a girlfriend so you’ll stop harassing me.”

“But…” he hesitates and I feel a frisson of alarm. I swallow hard, turning around the corner where Meicker’s is, the pastry shop owned by Baby Baker, wife to this city’s mayor. Garth clears his throat, “…I uh, I’ll get cream-filled Bavarian doughnuts and some coffee. Anything else you want?” he inquires and I tell him I’ll have the same. He leaves the car and strolls with his hands down his pockets to where the bell tolls as the door to the bakeshop opens. In his absence I feel loneliness. Aw poor Garth … he’s good-looking and all but he’s always rejected because of his height. Hmm…what do they say again in situations like this? A friend in need is a friend in deed or some shít? After a couple minutes he comes out bearing treats, and then some, “We just started our night shift and you already have a beer in hand!?” I observe with righteous indignation, “You have a two-drink minimum or I’ll be forced to bench you in the station!”

“Yeah, yeah, pfft,” he dismisses with the wave of his hand as he rummages inside the brown bag. He places our coffees into the cup holders on the dashboard then hands me a Bavarian from the box. The car smells heavenly and I can’t help myself as I sink my teeth into a cream-filled bite.

“What else you got?” I ask and his face lights up. He fists for something else inside the bag and draws it out, “A plantain?” I raise an eyebrow.

“No. It’s a banana,” he crosses his face into a petulant frown and I roll my eyes. My mouth drops when he starts fúcking his donut with the banana, “This could be us right now you know.”

“Ugh!” I smack him hard in the shoulder and he laughs, “You just don’t give up do you?” I flare but at the same time it comes out as laughter.

I shake my head as I take a welcome sip of my coffee. After a few beats I hear him lift the tab of his Heineken. He guzzles it like a pirate then opens another one, “Two-drink minimum,” I remind him and he mocks me by opening another one, “Will you stop drinking beer like a fish!”

“Pfft,” he defies me to guzzle down another one, and another one, and another one. And before I know it he already gulped down a six-pack. I can see his face turning pink with a crimson blush.

“That’s it,” I murmur while taking a napkin to wipe my mouth, “I’m sending you home, Garth.”

“No!” he grips the wheel, “Don’t you see?” he hiccups and I shake my head in ridicule, “My feelings for you are so *hic* strong that I feel like I’m gonna *hic* explode inside you, um, I mean *hic* outside you, I mean, um, aw shít.”

I grit my teeth, “You know what. f**k it. Take your top off.”

His eyes grow wide, disbelieving, “Really Sylvia, you wanna f**k?” he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and I find his hungered boyish charm endearing.

I pull the lever to his seat and push it back, “Shut it. I stay on top and you don’t get to talk,” I point my finger at him and he nods wide-eyed like a starving little boy, “Garth,” I clasp his chin with my hand, “You will not have me again if I hear a word of your gloating at work do you understand?” he nods enthusiastically, eyes wide, nostrils flaring with excitement, “Good. Now. You have ten seconds to get naked and we have ten minutes to fúck.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he fumbles excitedly with his pants and internally I feel like a good samaritan.

I pop the buttons of my shirt and he gasps like he’s never seen boobies before. He abides by my ten-second rule and I’m welcomed by his nakedness. I’ve only seen him shirtless in the locker room but never in the nude, and I must say he really is quite impressive.

I kneel between his legs and part them wide, “Oh Garth,” I massage his healthy manhood with my hand and his breathing becomes hard, “From now on I’m calling you Girth, you monster,” and rightfully so because what he lacks in height he makes up for with girth.

I lavish the sides of his stem with my tongue and his breath catches, hissing as I lick the heated length of a c**k that needs both my hands to completely cover. He groans low in his throat as I lick the sides, tracing the veiny shaft with moisture as I kiss the prominent lines leading to his hefty sacs, “Sylvia I—”

“Ssshhh. No talking.”

His balls tighten against my tongue as I administer teasing licks, pulling a nut between my lips that I suckle meticulously. I cup his balls in one hand, trapping the base of his shaft between my middle and ring finger as I massage the middle seam with my thumb. His growth hardens and slaps unattended against his stomach, waiting for my hot lips to wrap around it and suck hard.

His hands are trembling as they grasp my shoulders. I dunk the head inside my mouth and his grip tightens, grabbing hard like he’s in pain as his breathing becomes tortured and labored. He’s so warm and heavy against my tongue, filling my mouth with the familiar taste of male muskiness. I revel in the feeling of having him inside my cheeks, sliding in and out with lubricated ease. I’m starting to build a delicious ache between my legs so I pull out gasping, “I think you’re ready,” I murmur as I climb him and he regards me with cautious wonder. His half-lidded eyes are lazy as they drop to look at my bosoms. His gaze is heavy, too heavy for his eyes to remain open. But then they grow wide in surprise as my warmth envelops him. His mouth forms into a perfect O as he invades my privacy. I feel full as he eases inside me, sliding into place like a perfect fit. Garth was right. It’s been a while. And the feeling is indescribable. It’s a very slow burn that awakens what is asleep within me, making sensitive what is dormant, bringing to life a lazy set of nerves that are now convulsing with pleasure as I rock my hips against the support of his thighs.

I glide upwards and his díck slides out, making him groan in protest which I quell immediately with my mouth. His lips part and our tongues meet, all the while teasing him as I rub my backside against the hard length of his p***s, his shaft resting against my crack, bending as I move back, “Sylvia, please,” he begs and I position again, taking his c**k in my hand as I impale myself with no preamble. His face contorts in pleasure as I ride the health of his manhood, electrifying me with delicious tremors that shoot through my body each time I pull up and crash back down, “Oh Garth. Oh so big.”

Why does everything feel so raw and intimate with him? Is it because we’re friends? Or is he growing on me? Well, he’s definitely growing not just on me, but inside me as well the more we brush each other’s sensitive parts.

I hear moans and I’m surprised that mine are louder than him, “Garth,” I lace his name with sinful profanities as I wrap my arms around his neck, the selfish possession of lust overwhelming me with greed, making me dunk harder onto his hard-on to hit all my pleasure spots from within. His breathing is broken and ragged, and I feel the sensual ache in his voice, the desperation and the desire he has for me, thick, throbbing, and lustful. I then realize that I like Garth but was just too stubborn to acknowledge it.

The slow burn we started with is now building inside me, making my body pitch with arousal, sensations shooting everywhere from the tips of my curling toes to my gelatinous spine. Oh God it feels so good and I’m so close.

“Garth,” I like how my lips hug his name. Garth. It sounds so sinful. Like how my v****a tightens to hug his girth, “Garth!”

A few more agonizing seconds of pounding and I detonate my sweet orgasm, delicious heat shoots through my body, hot magma convulsing between my legs, flowing out as I come generously all over him, him slamming into me over and over to savor the silken texture of my release.

“Sylvia…” his voice breaks, “…I can’t, I can’t, I can’t,” he sobs as he slams into me much faster, “Ungh!” he arches his back, his hands a tight grip on my thighs, his eyes scrunched tight, his mouth open to exhale his broken whimpering as he overwhelms me with a violent, squeezing climax.

I want to ride and stretch my orgasm so I raise my rump, sliding him out partway before crashing back down. I do this again and again and he groans with pain. His eyes are moist with dried tears as I gaze at him, my hips rocking hard as I build into my second orgasm, an encore which I did not expect can come just as quickly after the first. I build a delicious rhythm and before I know it I’m bursting at the seams again, setting off another explosion which surprises him as he aids me with demolishing pumps, “Yes, yes, come for me Sylvia, come for me,” and I do, I come over and over until I’m reduced to a quivering hot mess, my breathing harsh as the feeling explodes inside my chest. Oh God it feels so good and I don’t know why. I sag against Garth and I feel his heartbeat steady along with mine. He kisses my hair and I curl deeper into his body, “Sylvia?”

“Yeah?”

“If I keep this secret will you f**k me again?”

“Sure.”

“Um…”

“What?”

“My concealed weapon.”

“What?? Your what??”

“It’s inside you. And it’s getting hard again.”